SEA  BREEZES 

A Sketch  of  the 
Presbyterian  Hospital 
at  San  Juan 

By  KATHARINE  R.  CROWELL 


WOMAN’S  BOARD  OF  HOME  MISSIONS  OF  THE  PRESBYTERIAN 
CHURCH.  IN  THE  U.  S.  A.,  156  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  CITY 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 
Columbia  University  Libraries 


https://archive.org/details/seabreezessketchOOcrow 


N this  valley  though,  shut  in  by  the  mountains,  where  our 
story  begins,  there  are  no  salty,  life-giving  breezes ! Even 
if  there  were  they  could  not  reach  little  Carmita,  who, 
ill  with  a fever,  is  lying  in  the  back  room  of  the  poor 
little  hovel  which  she  calls  her  home.  The  room  is 
dark  and  close  enough  at  any  time,  but  when  one  has  a fever  not  a ray  of 
light  or  breath  of  air  is  permitted  to  enter.  Carmita  grows  worse  and 
worse,  and  the  hearts  of  her  father  and  mother  are  heavy  and  sad.  What 
can  they  do?  Nothing — just  nothing.  The  moans  of  the  little  girl  are 
pitiful.  It  is  hard  to  hear  them  and  to  be  unable  to  soothe  the  pain. 

The  day  passes  slowly.  There  cannot  be  many  days  for  Car- 
mita if  the  fever  burn  much  longer. 

A sudden  thought  comes  to  the  father,  “Antonio  had  the  fever,” 
he  says,  “and  he  got  well.”  “Yes,”  says  the  mother,  “the  American 
doctors  cured  him.”  “Perhaps  they  could  cure  Carmita  too.” 
“But  how?  Their  house  is  far,  far  away  by  the  sea.” 

The  moans  of  the  suffering  little  girl  wring  the  hearts  now  of 
father  and  mother,  the  more  because  of  the  thought  of  the  possible 
help  which  yet  is  impossible,  for  truly  they  are  far  away  from  the 
doctor’s  house. 

“Antonio  walked  all  the  way,”  says  the  mother,  slowly.  “We 
might  walk  and  carry  Carmita  in  the  hammock.”  “But  the  long 
journey — it  would  kill  her.”  “She  will  surely  die  here,”  the  mother 


says.  “We  will  carry  her  to  the  doctor’s  house,  you  and  I,  and  per- 
haps there  she  may  get  well.” 

So  in  this  hospital  ambulance^ — as  the  hammock  is  called  at 
San  Juan — they  carried  her  all  the  long  miles.  Porto  Rico  roads 
are  not  like  our  roads;  the  way  up  and  down  the  mountain  sides, 
even  without  their  burden,  would  not  be  easy;  but  love  keeps  cour- 
age in  their  hearts  and  brings  them  at  length — a pathetic  little  group 
— to  their  journey’s  end,— the  Presbyterian  Hospital  at  San  Juan. 
Here  blow  the  sea  breezes!  Here  joyous  life  comes  back!  Here  in 
this  beautiful  house  by  the  sea  little  Carmita  will  get  well.  So  think 
the  father  and  mother.  The  doctor  comes, — and  the  pleasant-faced 
superintendent:  how  kind  they  are!  How  gentle  their  voices!  How 
astounding  then  their  words — no  ha^  camas, — “there  is  no  bed.” 
We  are  so  sorry  for  you,  we  would  gladly  take  your  little  girl  but — • 
no  ha^  camas. 

Poor  little  Carmita!  Do  we  pity  her  the  most — or  the  heart- 
broken father  and  mother — or  the  doctors  who  must  turn  them 
away? 

But  this  case  is  urgent.  Can  fifty-one  beds  be  made  to  hold 
fifty-two  patients?  No,  they  cannot;  but  in  some  magic  way  room 
is  made  for  Carmita;  in  plain  English,  the  gentle  nurse  from  America 
gave  up  her  bed,  and  before  many  days,  under  the  doctor’s  skill, 
the  nurse’s  care  and  the  strength-bringing  sea  breezes,  the  fever 
leaves  the  little  girl.  What  a lovely  time  she  has — getting  well ! 
There  are  so  many  new  things  to  learn — how  to  dress,  for  instance, 
for  never  before  had  Carmita  so  many  clothes  to  put  on — all  these 
things,  especially  the  little  red  shoes,  are  delightful,  but  the  crowning 
pleasure  is  her  beautiful  doll,  sent  to  her,  so  she  is  told,  by  some 
unknown  little  friends  in  “The  States.” 

Everything  about  the  hospital  buildings  is  an  unending  wonder  to 
Carmita:  The  dispensary — which  contains  the  drug  room,  steril- 

izing and  operating  room— has  also  the  waiting  room  for  patients 
in  which  Carmita  stayed  with  her  father  and  mother  while  prepara- 


The  Utile  country  bouses  or  shacks* 


tions  were  made  to  receive  her.  This  room  is  generally  filled  with 
patients  awaiting  their  turn,  and  it  is  here  that  they  learn  a great 
deal  of  the  Gospel,  to  which  they  owe  the  kindness  and  care  which 
the  hospital  supplies.  Every  morning  the  Bible  is  read  and  prayers 
are  offered  in  the  dispensary. 

In  the  administration  building  there  are  rooms  for  the  staff  and 
for  private  patients.  As  Carmita  becomes  stronger  this  building  in- 
terests her  greatly,  for  the  patients  are  mostly  Americans  and  every- 
thing American  fascinates  the  little  girl;  a third  building  contains  the 
wards — the  men’s  ward  accommodates  twelve  patients,  and  the  wo- 
men’s ward  the  same  number;  as  you  will  see  later  there  is  also  a 
children’s  ward  holding  twelve  beds.  Besides  these  buildings  there 
are  the  Superintendent’s  home,  and  the  kitchen.  The  last  is  surely 
a necessity,  for  each  day  four  sets  of  meals  must  be  prepared — for 
the  staff,  the  patients,  the  nurses  and  the  servants,  though  the  latter 
generally  prefer  to  cook  their  own  meals  over  charcoal  braziers. 


But  Carmita  is  only  one  patient.  Many  others  there  are  who 
have  traveled  as  far  as  she — perhaps  farther — to  reach  it.  There  are 
two  women  now  in  the  ward  who  came  from  a town  seventy  miles 
away.  “Seventy  miles,”  you  say,  “that  is  not  very  far.”  “No,  not 
far  at  all  for  us,  but  when  one  is  very  ill  indeed  and  must  travel  over 
Porto  Rican  roads  on  horse-or  donkey-back,  or  be  carried  in  a 
hammock  or  a chair — or  must  walk,  as  many  do,  seventy  miles 
stretch  out  almost  endlessly.  Yet  the  people  willingly  undertake  the 
journey  and  by  one  or  another  of  these  methods — or  by  trolley  from 
nearby  places — more  than  six  thousand  patients  come  to  the  hos- 
pital and  dispensary  each  year.  It  seems  a large  number  for  so  small 
an  island — about  ninety-five  miles  from  east  to  west,  thirty-five  from 
north  to  south — but  think  of  the  pictures  you  have  seen  of  Porto 
Rico — of  the  closely  built-up  cities  and  villages  and  little  country 
houses  or  “shacks” — how  many,  many  there  are,  and  how  close  to- 
gether-— for  Porto  Rico  is  a very  densely  populated  place,  and 
when  we  see  the  kind  of  houses  the  poorer  people  live  in  we  cease 
to  wonder  at  the  number  of  sick  people.  In  those  houses  the  little 
fresh  air  that  might  come  in  is  generally  shut  out;  the  ground  is  very 
damp, — for  much  rain  falls  in  Porto  Rico.  Another  danger  lurks 
in  the  floor  or  on  the  damp  ground:  a little  parasite,  that  when  one 
sets  down  an  unwary  foot  imbeds  itself  under  the  skin  and  causes 
the  dreaded  “Porto  Rican  anemia” — a terrible  disease  that  was 
generally  fatal  until  our  American  doctors  during  the  Spanish  war 
discovered  how  to  cure  it. 

Then  again  the  wisdom,  to  say  nothing  of  the  pleasure,  of  clean- 
liness is  not  even  in  the  thoughts  of  the  people;  the  food  is  not 
nourishing  and  meals  at  regular  times  are  unheard  of.  What  can 
they  be  but  sick?  So  though  this  tropical  island  might  and  per- 
haps some  day  will  be  really  healthy,  yet  at  the  present  time  sick- 
ness abounds  and  while  the  people  remain  so  poor  and  so  ignorant 
there  will  continue  to  be  great  need  for  our  hospital,  and  so  long  as 
there  is  need  for  the  hospital  there  is  need  for  money  to  support  it. 


The  of  houses  the  poorer  people  live  in 


Not  only  to  support  the  hospital  itself — but  also  the  Training 
School  for  Nurses.  Until  lately  there  hi.ve  been  no  trained  nurses 
in  Porto  Rico — for  that  matter  until  Porto  Rico  became  a part  of 
our  country  surgery  was  almost  unknown.  It  is  a great  work  to  take 
girls  from  habits  of  living  which  have  prevailed  for  hundreds  of 
years  and  train  them  to  habits  in  every  way  just  the  reverse.  This 
though  is  what  the  Training  School  at  San  Juan  Hospital  aims  to 
do.  And  after  years  of  patient  teaching,  our  medical  missionaries 
are  having  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  some  result  of  their  labors.  The 
skilful,  gentle,  thoroughly  trained  American  nurses  at  our  hospital 
are  a great  inspiration  to  these  Porto  Rican  young  women.  Some  of 
them  may  remain  as  a part  of  the  staff  of  the  hospital;  others  will 
minister  to  the  sick  in  the  homes.  So  there  are  all  these  needs  to  be 
supplied:  general  expenses,  resident  physician’s  and  surgeon’s  and 
nurses’  salaries,  and  the  yearly  cost  of  beds  in  the  men’s  and  wo- 
men s wards;  a part  of  these  are  pledged  but  some  are  not  yet  pro- 


The  journey's  end — San  Juan 


vided  for.  Any  one  who  so  desires  may  help  to  pay  for  these:  but 
the  children’s  ward  is  the  privilege  of  the  Junior  Societies,  to  whom 
it  has  been  assigned  as  their  “special  object.”  $120.00  will  sup- 
port a bed  for  a year;  or  if  the  payment  of  $120.00  is  beyond  their 
power,  they  may  help  to  cure  some  little  Carmita  by  the  gift  of  ten 
dollars,  which  will  pay  the  cost  of  a bed  for  one  month. 

So  far  we  have  spoken  chiefly  of  taking  away  sickness  and 
suffering.  But  this  is  not  all  that  the  hospital  means  to  do.  Think 
a moment  of  the  work  of  the  first  medical  missionary  whom  our  mis- 
sionaries strive  to  follow.  His  work  did  not  end  with  the  taking 
away  of  suffering,  but  added  to  it  was  the  giving  of  a great  happiness. 

So  it  is  in  the  hospital  at  San  Juan.  The  salty  breezes  from 
the  sea  invigorate  the  bodily  life,  but  over  the  sea  there  comes  also 
a fresh  zest  in  living,  for,  as  has  been  said,  Bible  truths  are  taught  at 
San  Juan,  and  the  patients  receive  them  gladly.  Every  day  they  hear 
the  Bible  read,  every  day  there  are  services  of  prayer  and  song,  and 


The  hospital  buildings  are  connected  by  bridges 


to  many  men  and  women  their  stay  at  the  hospital  has  meant  new 
life  for  body  and  spirit  too. 

Very  few  of  these  men  and  women  can  read;  but  thanks  to 
the  schools,  which  they  owe  to  “America,”  many  of  the  children  are 
now  able  to  read  aloud  to  their  admiring  parents.  And  it  is  when  they 
are  doing  so  that  we  catch  the  last  sight  of  our  convalescents  at  San 
Juan.  The  hospital  buildings  are  connected  by  bridges,  and  are 
surrounded  by  wide  piazzas.  On  these  piazzas  they  sit  and  while 
the  sea  breezes  bring  to  them  new  life  and  strength,  they  are  en- 
tranced by  words  from  the  wonderful  Book,  which  perhaps  they  hear 
for  the  first  time. 

A little  boy  has  been  reading  to  his  father,  and  we  hear,  as  the 
doctor  passes  by,  the  father  say  to  him:  “This  hospital  makes  me 
think  of  what  my  little  son  has  read  to  me  about  the  way  the  crippled 
and  sick  came  to  Jesus  and  how  the  poor  had  the  Gospel  preached 
to  them.” 


HIS  hospital  is  under 
the  care  of  the  Wom- 
an’s Board  of  Home 
Missions  of  the 
Presbyterian  Church, 

U.  S.  A.,  1 56  Fifth 
Avenue,  New  Y ork 
City,  to  whom  all  contributions  should 
be  sent.  The  following  are 

SOME  WAYS  OF 
HELPING  THE  HOSPITAL 

$200  will  provide  for  training  a native  Porto  Rican  in 
the  Training  School  for  one  year.  The  course  requires 
three  years  for  graduation. 

$120  per  year  supports  a bed  in  the  hospital. 

$10  provides  supplies  for  the  dispensary  for  one  day. 


No.  381.— 1st  Ed.-5,  1907 

Price,  5 cents  per  copy;  |4.50  per  lOtl 


THE  WILLcTT  PRESS,  N,  Y. 


